


Gratitude

by dementxa



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Attempted Seduction, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 05:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15527532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementxa/pseuds/dementxa
Summary: Zevran wants to thank the person who saved his life ... in his own special way.





	Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> I am almost a decade late to the party, but now I am up to my neck in Dragon Age and I love it, lol. This is the first of maaaaany stories I have planned, so keep an eye out for more!

The forest where Eltra and her companions had set up their camp was dark and silent. Even if there were wild beasts about, as Alistair had initially worried, Morrigan had made sure that they wouldn't disturb them. Now the only sounds that pierced the stillness of the air were Plaguefury's grunts as the hound roamed around in search of a treat he could snatch.

Tired from the long day, Eltra and the others had a quick dinner, after which everyone left to tend to their own business. Eltra remained by the fire. During the assassin's ambush, she'd been hit with a spell that left her dazed long enough for one of her attackers to bash her with his shield. Luckily for Eltra, dwarven armour was tougher than anything surface-made, and she'd managed to regain her balance and crack the man's skull open with her maul.

Her armour had saved her life, but as a result she'd ended up with a dented chestplate that she needed to fix as best as she could. For a warrior, damaged armour was a stain on their honour, proof that their skills were far from honed. A warrior wearing such poor equipment was as shameful of a sight as a healer walking around with open sores.

Repairing the chestplate was no easy task. She was a member of the noble caste in Orzammar - or at least, she used to be - and nobles were seldom taught smithing. What little knowledge of metalworking she possessed was due to her curious nature. As a child, she would often visit her father's armoury and watch the warriors tend to their equipment. Children were fast learners, and she had grasped the basics of weapon and armour maintenance in no time.

It wasn't easy to let her memories guide her hands at first. Eltra's first attempts at mending her armour were clumsy, and she actually ended up damaging it even more. But now, after weeks of fighting bandits and darkspawn, she had become quite adept at it. Alistair often asked her to fix _his_ armour as well.

Once she was done, she held up the chestplate to admire her work for a moment, then set it aside. She didn't put it on, as it was quite warm, even though the sun had set long ago. The area around the campfire was even hotter, with the air as scalding as a dragon's breath. Eltra was certain that if she stayed near the flames for too long, she'd get blisters all over her skin. To keep herself cool, she was wearing a thin cotton dress. In reality, it was a shirt that Alistair had given her, but she saw nothing wrong in calling it a dress, seeing as the garment reached well below her knees.

Despite Alistair's best efforts, she had no appreciation for the ever-changing weather on the surface.

"Isn't it exciting that way?" He would ask her. "You never know what the next day will bring!"

Eltra could not see how this was a good thing. With the nobles of Ferelden at each other's throats, and the shadow of the Blight looming over the world, she didn't think they needed any more uncertainty in their lives. However, she was careful not to express such sentiments around Alistair. The fact that she didn't like the weather didn't mean that she had to spoil his enjoyment of it.

Heavy stomps rocked the ground behind her and, seconds later, Alistair settled down next to her. Despite the heat, he was still wearing his armour, though at least he'd taken his helm and gauntlets off. He held a bottle in his hand.

"Want some?"

Eltra looked at the offered drink with suspicion. The liquid was dark like ink and shifted lazily in the bottle. A shudder ran down her spine and she rolled her shoulders to disperse it.

"Not until you tell me what it is," she said.

"Wine. With spices." Alistair pulled the cork out and gave the wine a sniff, wrinkling his nose in slight disgust. "It's a little too sweet for my taste, but it's not the foulest thing I've drunk." He smiled at her. "It'll help you sleep better. The nightmares are getting worse for me, and I can imagine it's the same with you."

"It is." Eltra didn't wish to discuss their shared plight at this precise moment. "Thank you for the offer, Alistair, but I think I'll pass."

Sweets were hard to come by in Orzammar. Sometimes ambitious merchants would bring some from the surface, but they were not a popular commodity, even among the nobles. Eltra's first experience with sugar was fairly recent. A guard in the Warden's camp in Ostagar had given her a fruit tart. The taste had been so overwhelming that she had almost retched. Ever since, her desire for sweets had diminished significantly.

"As you wish." Alistair shrugged. "More for me, then. But I'll advise you, if you plan on changing your mind about it, you better do it quickly. I don't think the wine will be around for much longer, if you catch my meaning."

"We'll be departing tomorrow, before sunrise," Eltra reminded him. "I expect to see you prepared to leave ... and sober, if you don't mind."

"That I will be, I guarantee it." Alistair chuckled before bringing the bottle to his lips.

Eltra smiled at him. Though Alistair was not the kind of companion she ever thought she would end up with, she'd grown quite fond of him. He could be a bit naive at times, and he talked too much, but his heart was in the right place.

"I'll see you in the morning, Alistair," she said, getting up. "Sleep well."

"That's what I'm trying to do."

Eltra gathered her armour and went to her tent. She had some difficulties pulling the flaps around the entrance aside, as both her hands were full. Expecting the night to be warm, she had pitched her tent underneath the shade of an elm tree and upon entering, a wave of cool air greeted her - a much welcome change to the temperature around the campfire.

The tent was small and sparsely furnished. Of course, with the party spending each night at a different location, they couldn't afford to carry a lot of extra baggage around. Eltra had a bed, and a place to store her belongings in, and she didn't need to ask for more.

She put her armour in the box that was in one of the corners. It was, in fact, a broken crate that she had found lying around. It wasn't the best of containers, but it was a better option than leaving them on the ground. When she turned around, she saw the newest member of her party, lying on the pile of rags that was her bed, with his shirt unlaced and a flower clasped between his lips.

The sight was exceptionally ridiculous, something that Eltra expected to happen only in the stories that maidens exchanged giggling. Back in Orzammar, if she had found one of her friends in her bed in such a position, she would have found the act a mere jest, and would have had a hearty chuckle before throwing the cheeky bastard head-first out the door. But Zevran was a stranger, an assassin paid to stalk and kill her. He would have been dead had Eltra not spared his life after his unsuccessful ambush. He had _no_ place in her bed.

She wondered why she hadn't seen him upon her entrance; one couldn't help but look at the bed as one walked in. She probably had, she decided, but her mind had refused to grasp what her eyes had seen.

With her fists resting on her hips, she turned her attention fully on the elf, glaring at him.

"This is my tent."

"Yes, I know. I'm right where I need to be." Zevran had to take the flower out of his mouth to reply to her. "Should I not express my gratitude to the beautiful woman who spared me my life?"

He sat up and ran his hand over his chest, opening his shirt even more. Eltra noticed how clean he was. The fight had left the elf alive, but bloodied and dirty, and he hadn't been allowed to wash up sooner. His ambush had cost them a lot of time and Alistair didn't want them to have any more unnecessary stops. They were supposed to be in Denerim by tomorrow afternoon, though now it didn't seem likely that they would be able to reach the city so soon.

It seemed like Zevran had finally been able to wash up. Eltra remembered that he had disappeared shortly after they had decided to stop for the night. When she'd inquired after him, Alistair had suggested, with the faintest glimmer of hope in his voice, that perhaps the elf had run off. Or, even better, had been eaten by darkspawn.

If she had to be honest, Eltra would rather have Zevran eaten than deal with this shameless seduction attempt.

"You don't need to thank me," she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Besides, gratitude is expressed with _words_."

"Ah, but can the words of an assassin ever be sincere?"

"And his actions can be?"

Zevran smiled and cocked his head to the side.

"I admit, you have outwitted me there. This tongue of yours is quite sharp, it seems. Makes me wonder what else it can do."

Eltra sighed. Though she had only known Zevran for a few hours, she was already doubting her decision to let him accompany her and Alistair. She sensed that his proclamation of loyalty was a sincere one, and he possessed skills that her other companions did not. Yet the price she had to pay for those skills seemed too high. The elf's quips always carried a double meaning and he managed to turn even the simplest of phrases into lewd propositions. Deterring his flirtatious behaviour was an exhausting task.

"I'm sure that your imagination on this matter would be sufficient."

"Ah!" Zevran closed his eyes for a moment. "I thought you were a noble hero. Why must you torture me so? Do I not deserve some mercy? I have been dishonoured, defeated and enslaved. It is cruel of you to hurt me even more."

"You've been shown enough mercy as it is. It is the reason you're here alive and unharmed," Eltra reminded him. "Were it not for me, your bones would have remained in that field for the wolves to choke on."

"Mmm, yes, that is true ... Your dimwitted templar friend was so eager to cut me down." Zevran smiled. He seemed unperturbed that he had been staring at death's face mere hours ago. "One can't help but wonder. What has earned me such leniency?"

"The times are dire, as I'm sure you can see," Eltra said. "We need help wherever we can get it. And you are not our true enemy."

He accepted her words with a light smile, and tilted his head towards her. In doing so, his shirt slid down, exposing his shoulder, as well as a complex embroidery of scars. Zevran didn't bother covering up, much to Eltra's annoyance.

"You are testing my patience," she warned him.

"Good. I was starting to worry I had lost my charms." Zevran chuckled. Despite everything, Eltra realized that she liked the sound of his laughter. "Permit me to ask one more question: if I am not an enemy, nor a friend, nor, it appears, a particularly desired bedmate, then why am I here?"

Alistair had expressed the same bewilderment (albeit omitting the bedmate part) after she had stopped his sword before he'd driven it in the elf's heart. Now she gave the Zevran same answer she'd given Alistair.

"You are a witness. We need the kingdom's support, and we will not get it as long as Loghain reigns. Hopefully, your words will be able to convince the rest of the nobility that he is nothing more than a power-hungry murderer."

"So I am just a means to an end?" Zevran pursed his lips. "That is not very flattering."

"My aim isn't to flatter you, Zevran. I have a duty to protect this kingdom."

"Duty!" The elf spat the word out with a click of his tongue. "Such a boring way to waste one's life, no? Can't you forget that you're a Warden, for just one night, and remember that you're a woman?"

"Believe me, as long as you're around, I will be acutely aware of my womanhood."

"Ah!" Zevran's eyes gleamed in the dark. "I shall take this as the highest of compliments."

"It's not."

"Is that so? I wonder. I thought you might be teasing me by pretending to be so serious ... but it seems that you truly do believe you do not desire me."

"I don't." Eltra kept her voice flat. "Believe it or not, Zevran, you are not as handsome as you like to think. Especially to someone like me."

"Ah, I see now." He laughed merrily. "Am I too tall for your liking?"

"Too tall, and too bald too." Eltra nodded.

"So you claim. But, you know, despite all your harsh words, you have not asked me to leave yet."

"Do I need to explicitly ask you to leave so you can finally understand that you are unwanted?"

"Am I , though?" Zevran smirked. "You need to give me a clear sign, Warden."

"A clear sign," Eltra repeated. "Alright, allow me to give you just that."

She went to the tent entrance and pulled the flaps aside. With two fingers in her mouth, she whistled. The high-pitched noise tore through the camp like an arrow and she saw Alistair, who was still sitting by the fire, twist around in surprise. A second later, a loud whine replied to her signal. Claws scratched the earth, and soon the laboured breathing of her mabari as it was running to her tent reached her ears.

She turned back to the bed and found it empty. The only reminder that Zevran had been there, sprawled over the rags like moss on a wet stone, was a wilting flower on the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading it, I hope you liked it! ^^


End file.
